WE MARK TIME and life in years. For the young, those birthdates are merry milestones. For me – halfway to 63 yet a lifetime behind my Dad, who’s halfway to 95 – I’m too likely now to notice and lament the aches that are Father Time’s gift basket. But don’t be fooled: I cherish the passage, too.

Time manifests itself in the generations. On April 1, my grandson turned 1, his first trip through the calendar – a leap year, fittingly. That means, obviously, that I’m celebrating my first anniversary as a grandfather, or “Poppy” in my case. It’s been a seminal year for both of us.

Fifteen years in the future, my grandson will be driving a car, or whatever passes for an automobile in 2039. Maybe I’ll be taking a new set of knees or hips for a test-drive. But why jump ahead? Stay in the present. That’s something that 1-year-olds and 62-year-olds might do equally well.

My grandson’s present features a beautiful smile with nine – count ’em, nine! – teeth. He speaks (often sings) Baby fluently. He wisely refuses to step into toddlerhood, standing and teetering as he teases us. That’s right, stay in the present a bit longer. The future comes at you quickly once you’re on the move.

My present is always rooted in the past. I’m thinking specifically about the recent past. May 3 will mark five years since I had triple bypass heart surgery. I’m still in awe about that miracle. I’ll be forever thankful that two doctors and a physician’s assistant saved my life, allowing me to see the birth of my grandson and other precious things.

Here’s to the past, present, and future.